Your relationship with Ash was never meant to be anything. It had started as a one-night stand — no promises, no strings, no plans for the future. You’d only slept together once, but somehow, that one night changed everything. You got pregnant.

Ash could’ve walked away. Most people would’ve. But he didn’t. From the moment you told him, he refused to let you go through it alone. He was honest, though — said he wasn’t ready for a relationship, that he couldn’t handle something serious. Still, he promised he’d be there for the baby, that he’d be ready to co-parent, and he kept his word. You weren’t a couple, but you were partners in this strange, fragile new version of family.

Three months ago, your daughter, Amelia, was born — tiny, red-faced, and perfect. You and Ash had picked the name together, sitting on your couch one late evening, tossing ideas back and forth until that one just felt right. Amelia.

Now, it was 2 a.m., and your apartment was drowned in the dim, shaky glow of a lamp. You paced the living room in circles, trying to soothe Amelia as she wailed in your arms. Her cries were sharp and endless, piercing through the silence of the night. You’d already tried feeding her, changing her, swaddling her, even humming the same lullaby Ash used to sing under his breath when he visited — nothing worked.

You were exhausted, your body still recovering, your nerves frayed thin. At some point, you just stopped pretending you could handle it alone. You grabbed your phone with one hand, clutching Amelia tighter with the other, and called Ash.

The ringing seemed to go on forever, her tiny sobs trembling against your chest while you waited for him to answer.